


From the Beginning (Again) -- An Expected Journey

by Zaeli_Echo



Series: From the Beginning (Again) [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: 'cause he has to act like a stony stoic king, Bilbo is So Done, Bilbo is after the Thorin booty, Bilbo is having none of your shit Thorin, Bofur and Fili and Kili are catalysts, But I don't care, Dwalin is smarter than he lets on, Even Shadowfax ships it, Fili and Kili are insightful, Gandalf is so over your shit Thorin, Gandalf is suspicious of this hobbit that seems to know what's gonna happen before it does, He hides it though, I really don't know how to tag, I'm doing it anyway, M/M, Mutual Pining, Overprotective Thorin, Protective Bilbo, Rohan ponies are useful, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Thorin Has No Sense Of Direction, Thorin gets jealous, Thorin is after the Bilbo booty, Thorin is genuinely impressed, Thorin is shy, Thranduil is an asshole, Time Travel Fix-It, Trolls are dumb, Well - Freeform, a horse-lord, and he's a HORSE, because he's a cinnamon roll, but more shyly, but that counts, which is moronic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-10-17 10:11:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 15,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10591866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaeli_Echo/pseuds/Zaeli_Echo
Summary: Bilbo wakes up from what he thought would be his last nap on his way to the undying lands to find himself young and spry again. The chest of treasure from the troll hoard is missing from bag end, and there is no Sting in the chest by the door. Only when Gandalf appears in his front garden does Bilbo realize what (and when) this is that's going on.





	1. Preface

Bilbo Baggins watched as the shoreline faded behind the stern of the dainty elvish ship. A mellow calm had settled over him as he half-listened to Gandalf and Elrond conversing quietly by the mainmast. The soft calmness was so inviting. So tempting. It was all he could do to guide himself to the chair facing back west before he let the calm enfold him, sinking into a soft darkness that echoed with the gentle roll of the surf.


	2. This is highly confusing. And slightly upsetting.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo wakes up from his nap. What on earth is going on?

Bilbo opened his eyes, breathing in the comfortable warmth of the sun as it streamed through the round window. The familiarity gave him calm.

 

Wait.

 

Bilbo sat bolt upright in bed, the events of his last minutes of consciousness crashing over him like an icy wave. The motion shouldn’t have been possible. He was over one hundred and fifteen years old. A glance in the mirror gave the old hobbit even more pause. The image in the reflection showed something he had almost forgotten. He reached up and ran a hand through his hair. Smooth and long and curly and that rich coppery blonde he had long since stopped trying to dye it. His hair should be white. And frizzy. And _old._

 

“Perhaps this is what Eru gave me. My heaven. She made me young and spry again.” The thought made the hobbit happy, but it didn’t seem right. _If this is your heaven, then where is He? Where is…_ Bilbo cut off the thought before it could finish, not wanting to think about it.

 

Still mulling over the idea, Bilbo got dressed and went out to sit in his lovingly-cared-for front garden, lighting his pipe and lazily blowing smoke rings into the mellow summer air.

 

A puff of smoke popped the hobbit in the face, causing him to cough and open his eyes. A familiar grey mantle fluttered at his eye level.

 

“Good morning, Gandalf.” He glanced up at the wizard and was about to ask why his cloak was grey, when he met the wizard’s gaze and something in the back of his mind just _clicked_.

 

He knew where this conversation was going. He remembered that smoke ring flying back up his nose. He remembered what would happen that night. _Who he would meet._

 

“I did not think you would recognize me, Bilbo Baggins.” The wizard looked rather surprised, but continued his conversation, as if it were no matter.

 

Bilbo took another puff on his pipe, attempting to hide his mixed feelings at his realization. “Do you think that just because it has been a long time since you have come and visited does not mean that I would not forget one of my dear mother’s closest friends!” He attempted a cheery quip, but he wasn’t so sure it worked.

 

“I do not know what I expected, but this is certainly not it.” The tall figure regarded Bilbo carefully, the glint that Bilbo found he could never puzzle out hiding beneath the wide brim of his hat. “I have a proposition for you, Bilbo.”

 

“Go ahead?” Bilbo gestured for the wizard to continue with a wave of his pipe.

 

“I’m looking for someone with whom to share an… _adventure_. I think it would do you good.”

 

Bilbo set his pipe in his lap, discreetly taking a deep breath. “I remember how often I would beg for them as a child. I don’t believe that spirit has left me yet.”

 

“Good. You will be a good addition to the company. I shall be going then.” The unnaturally tall wizard took up his staff and ambled off down the road, humming some unfamiliar tune.

  
Bilbo sighed to himself and stood, letting himself into his house. He had thirteen dwarves to cook for, and he hadn’t yet forgotten just how much the company could eat.


	3. Greetings are unnecessary, seeing as I already know you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo is /so/ not prepared to see everyone again.

A harsh rap at the door startled Bilbo from his thoughts as he finished setting out the food.

 

 _If things are to be the same as they were the first time around, then that would be Dwalin._ Bilbo thought, before padding down the hall and steeling his nerves. The door swung open with a quiet squeak, revealing the achingly familiar face of the tallest dwarf Bilbo would ever come to meet.

 

“Dwalin, son of Fundin. At your service.” The same piercing hawkish eyes watched him from beneath heavy hooded brows as the mountain of a dwarf bowed.

 

“Bilbo Baggins, son of Belladonna, at yours. Do come in, Master Dwalin. Supper is on the table, but if you wish, you may take the washroom before the others arrive. I daresay you may have been a while without a hot bath.” Bilbo stepped aside and motioned down the hall with a smile. “If you would though, please remove your boots first.”

 

Dwalin watched him for a moment with confusion painted across his heavy hawkish features, before complying. He then marched off down the hall toward the washroom with a small grateful glance.

 

_This is gonna be so much harder than I thought._

 

He puttered about, finishing setting out the fourteen sets of cutlery as Dwalin bathed. A sharp rap at the door interrupted the hobbit’s thoughts and he braced himself. He padded up to the door and opened it, revealing Balin staring up at the clouds blanketing the sky. He choked back a sob at his old friend’s face, serene and calm.

 

“Good evening.”

 

“Indeed it is, but I fear it may rain later. Balin, son of Fundin, at your service.” The elderly dwarf smiled amicably, his forked beard tinted slightly orange by the light from beyond Bilbo’s round green door.

 

“Bilbo Baggins, son of Belladonna, at yours. Dwalin has commandeered the washroom, but when he finishes, it’s up for the taking.” He heard a grumbled curse in Khûzdul from behind the washroom door, enticing a laugh from both Balin and Bilbo.

 

“Never had the cleanest mouth, my brother.” Balin laughed, moving towards the dining room, but not before Bilbo could stop him.

 

“Wait, before you track mud everywhere, please remove your boots and leave them by the door.” The hobbit gestured at the space beside Dwalin’s boots.

 

“Of course, master Baggins.” Balin agreed, a merry twinkle in his eyes. “I would hate to see your lovely carpets damaged.” He removed his boots and overcoat - something Bilbo knew he rarely did. As he hung up his overcoat on one of the hooks by the door, Bilbo got a view he never was treated with the first time round; Balin’s arms, although slightly wrinkled and speckled with a few age spots, were taught and corded with an impressive array of muscles - very similar to his younger (more warlike) brother. Balin had situated himself at the table and was jotting something in what Bilbo recognized as the written form of Khûzdul when another sharp rap at the door drew Bilbo’s attention. Louder. Two hands. Two people.

 

 _Fíli and Kíli_. Bilbo’s throat constricted as he opened the door for the princes.

 

“Fíli” The blonde brother started.

 

“And Kíli” The younger continued.

 

“At your service!” They finished in unison, bowing.

 

“You must be mister Boggins!” Kíli cried, a jovial smile on his face. Bilbo tried to swallow around the lump in his throat. He couldn’t stop seeing the boys as he had on Ravenhill in the back of his mind. He didn’t have the heart to correct the younger prince as they let themselves in.

 

“Kíli, Fíli, please remove your boots and leave them by the door. Kíli, don’t you _dare_ scrape your boots off on my mother’s glory box.” Kíli froze, one foot in the air, then sheepishly grinned as he stooped to unlace his heavy boots next to his brother. They hung up their coats and stood.

 

“Oh no you don’t. There’s an empty barrel where you can deposit your multitude of sharp things.” He pointed at the barrel by the door as Fíli moved to hand the hobbit his bundle of weaponry.

 

“‘Pologies, master Baggins.” Fíli dipped his chin and obeyed

 

“Balin is waiting in the dining room, and the ale is in the hall. Don’t drown yourselves in it too quickly.” He watched Fili’s face light up and he elbowed his brother, who was mirroring his grin.

 

“Thank you master Boggins!” The younger brother cried in his trademark happy shout.

 

“It’s _Baggins,_ Kee.” His brother hissed, glancing sheepishly at Bilbo.

 

“Please just call me Bilbo, lads.” He smiled at the two, just as happy and energetic as he remembered. His throat tightened again.

 

At that moment, Dwalin came out of the washroom, fully dressed. Bilbo gave a small smile when he noticed that there was steam curling off the dwarf’s muscular forearms and he smelled faintly of bath salts.

 

“I’d expect uncle to be here by now. He’s not one to be late.” Fíli commented from his place next to his brother as Dwalin filled a tankard with some of the ale Bilbo had set out.

 

Bilbo’s breath caught in his throat. In his joy of seeing Balin and Fíli and Kíli alive and well, he had forgotten who else would be arriving. He thought of The ‘Ri brothers. Protective Dori and sly Nori and poor sweet Ori. He thought of the ‘Ín brothers. Gruff but kind Gloín and talented Oín. He thought of Bombur and Bifur and passionate affectionate Bofur with his ridiculous hat. But at the forefront of his mind was Thorin. Bilbo’s heart ached at the mere thought of the Dwarven king-in-exile. Tall and stoic and _so bloody stubborn_. All broad shoulders and long black hair and piercing blue eyes.

 

_You_

_Are_

_So_

_Screwed_

_You_

_Silly_

_Stupid_

_Infatuated_

_Romantic_

_Sap_

_Of_

_A_

_Hobbit_

 

“Master Baggins! That was the door. Would you like me to get it for you?” Kíli was watching him, hazel eyes narrow, but his brows were creased with worry, unlike Dwalin, who was staring at him suspiciously.

  
“Oh! Of course. Just got lost in my thoughts.” Bilbo tried for a cheerful chirp, and hurried to the door, only to remember too late that they came tumbling in the door, and find himself flat on his bum, rather squished under a wriggling, cursing Bofur.

 

 


	4. I have some practice fighting, and it's you who taught me, but you haven't done it yet.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo hasn't forgotten his training, even before the fact. The hobbit also decides that he was /so/ not putting up with Thorin's shit this time around.

“THAT’S WHAT BILBO BAGGINS HATES!” The last line of the impromptu song ended as Bilbo turned and smiled at Kíli as the younger prince set the last dish on top of the pile with a happy shout.

 

Gandalf smiled at Bilbo, but there was something unreadable behind his eyes. The same twinkle Bilbo had seen earlier that morning.

 

“Kíli my boy, do me a favor and help me carry that back into the kitchen. Ah-ah! No puppy eyes or I shall make you, Fíli and Bofur wash them too.” The brunette immediately schooled his features, then, with a slightly malicious twinkle in his eye, he glanced at his brother and the toymaker, and they all shot him matching pitiful stares, enticing a half-smothered chuckle from Dwalin.

 

“You think I won’t make you.” Bilbo cocked an eyebrow at the trio, but they continued, obviously unrepentant. The hobbit gave an exaggerated exasperated sigh. “Alright. You three will help me with dishes tonight. I don’t think you realize that means you will be _last_ in line for the washroom.” Kíli gasped, then scowled halfheartedly as Bilbo wagged a finger at him. “You’ve sealed your fate, ya’ stubborn princeling. C’mon now.” He only realized his mistake when Balin glanced up from his notebook, a rather shocked expression on his face.

 

“How did you--”

 

A sharp knock at the door saved Bilbo from an inevitable interrogation.

 

Gandalf cast a knowing glance across the room.

 

“He’s here.”

 

And Bilbo’s heart just _stopped._

 

Only Gandalf’s hand on the back of his shoulder drew him out of his stupor, and he forced himself to his feet, the familiar baritone making his heart flutter, threatening to stop again. He couldn’t breathe as he stopped himself from stepping around the corner as greetings were exchanged.

 

As the last of the company stepped away from Thorin, Bilbo steeled his nerves and stepped around the corner, only to run smack into something tall and solid. He stumbled back, tripping over his own feet. He had long since expected to hit the ground, but found himself held up by a pair of strong arms. Strong and solid and oh so _Thorin_. Bilbo swallowed hard as he was placed back on his feet and raised his head, meeting the Dwarf’s steely blue gaze with a sudden rush of Tookish boldness.

 

“So… This is the Hobbit.” The same words Bilbo could never forget.

 

“Indeed. Bilbo Baggins, son of Belladonna, at your service. That was not the greatest first impression of mine. Deepest of apologies, Master Oakenshield.” Bilbo was surprised at his own voice. Smooth and unwavering, despite the blush that threatened to crawl up his throat and was probably present at the tips of his ears. At least this time he wasn’t in his nightclothes.

 

“Looks more like a grocer than a burglar.” Thorin looked Bilbo up and down, left hand still resting on the hobbit’s shoulder.

 

“And you’re quite rude for a king.” Bilbo retorted, still feeling tookishly bold. He wasn’t gonna deal with a condescending Thorin this time around.

 

Steely blue eyes darted back to meet Bilbo’s, shock evident through the mask. “What did you just say?” The baritone was low and quiet. Not quite threatening, but Bilbo could feel Fíli and Kíli staring at him, and could just make out their slack-jawed faces out of the corner of his eye. He held the king’s stare.

 

“I said you’re being quite rude. I have opened my home for you. I have allowed your company access to my washroom and my finest ales and spent the three hours before Dwalin arrived preparing a meal that would be up to your standards. I even set aside a sizeable portion because I had heard that you may be late. All of this I do out of the goodness of my heart. The least you could do is be courteous.” Bilbo watched as the steel blue of those handsome eyes darkened, then hardened, then - inexplicably - the Dwarf broke eye contact, glancing at his feet.

 

There was a moment of tense silence.

 

Then “You are correct, master Baggins.” Bilbo had to repress a laugh at the gasps of Fíli and Kíli as their uncle shifted his weight almost ashamedly and released the hobbit’s shoulder, glancing back up to meet Bilbo’s gaze through heavy dark lashes. “I apologize. It was unfair of me to disrespect such a good host without knowing a thing of his potential or capabilities. Sincerest of Apologies.” The Dwarf bowed, eyes flicking back to the floor.

 

“Your apologies are accepted. Now please remove your boots and overcoat and we can get out that extra portion and get down to business.” Bilbo said brusquely, gesturing at a clear space and hook by the door, before sweeping off to pull the extra plate of roast brisket and potatoes out of where they had been keeping warm in the breadbox. He could feel many pairs of eyes on him as he marched out of the room. He set the plates on the table and snuck to his room, closing and locking the door.The surge of Took audacity had worn off and left the hobbit utterly spent and crying into the crook of his arm.

 

A soft knock sounded from the door a few minutes later.

 

“Yes?” Bilbo forced his voice to ring steady.

 

“Thorin has finished eating and we are about to go over the details of the quest. I figured you would like to hear it.” Gandalf spoke from the other side of the door.

 

“I will be out in just a moment. You may start without me. I won’t be long.” He heard Gandalf’s footsteps retreat and he leaned his head back for a moment, before wiping the tears from his cheeks and opening the door, squaring his shoulders, and entering the room where the company waited.

 

“-- Is why we will need a burglar.” Bilbo walked in just as Ori spoke those words.

 

“Ah, mister Boggins. Good for you to rejoin us. We were just discussing your role as burglar. If you accept, of course.” Kíli quickly amended himself at an elbow from his brother.

 

“Done much fighting, master Baggins?” Dwalin spoke up from his place between Nori and Balin.

 

“Not serious fighting. I’m a fair shot with a bow, and I’ve done some practice with a sword though.” Bilbo had to force himself not to choke on the lie. He _was_ a fair shot, and he _did_ have practice with a sword, but unfortunately, the lie was about serious fighting. He had fought for his life and the life of the dwarves sitting at his table. Just not in this life.

 

“Do you mind showing us your skills? I’m sure Kíli and Fíli would be happy to duel with you.” Balin regarded Bilbo with a look that told the hobbit that he hadn’t escaped interrogation.

 

“Of course, we’d be happy to help master Baggins prove his talents.” Fíli smiled at Bilbo, the hobbit’s throat tightening again at the painfully familiar quiet smile.

 

“I don’t happen to have either on me, so would you mind me using one of yours?” Bilbo’s forced smile seemed to fool the princes and the princes grabbed their uncle by the elbow and dragged him outside with them, handing Bilbo a bow.

 

“Let’s start with the bow, then.” Thorin rumbled, pointing at a tree fifty yards off.

 

Bilbo took a deep breath and knocked an arrow, drawing the string back to his ear and exhaling slowly as he released. The arrow buried its head in the thick bark with a muffled _thunk_.

 

“Good shot master Baggins. Your form is good, but your knees are locked. Try to loosen your stance.” Nori chimed from where he leaned against the fence.

 

“Fíli, mark the tree in a spot with your knives so that master Baggins has a clearer target.” Fíli nodded at his uncle and did as he was told, marking the tree lightly with a circle before backing away and motioning for Bilbo to take another shot. The hobbit complied, the dull thunk sounding again and eliciting a gasp from Kíli.

 

“Better. That’s a dead-center bullseye too. You’re better than a fair shot from the looks of it.” Nori gave an appreciative nod from the fence, puffing on his pipe.

 

“Good. Now with the sword. Fíli, if you could duel with the halfling.” Thorin motioned his nephew over.

 

“You can use this.” Thorin held out a long hunting knife, offering the hobbit the hilt. Fíli shot his uncle a wide-eyed glance as Bilbo took the weapon and gave it a couple looping swings, getting a feel for the balance of the blade. "That should be about your size."

 

Bofur said something in Khûzdul that seemed to be directed at Thorin. The dwarf king replied snappily in the same tongue, causing Bofur’s eyebrows to disappear into his fringe. Thorin growled something else in Khûzdul and motioned for Fíli to take his place across from Bilbo, ignoring the incredulous glances the company was firing in his direction.

 

“High guard!” Barked the prince, obviously in his element.

 

“Let’s just duel, okay. I’ll manage without you barking orders at me.” Bilbo swung the sword in another loop and took up a braced stance - knees bent and feet staggered, with the sword leveled about at his naval.

 

“If you insist.” Fíli grinned at his brother as Kíli muttered something in his native tongue.

 

The dwarf prince advanced quickly, attacking with a quick slashing blow that Bilbo parried quickly and caught the blonde’s sword hilt to hilt and shoved him backwards, attacking with a looping blow that caught Fíli off guard. He hastily blocked the attack, but was off balance as Bilbo repeated the maneuver, only this time hooking his foot around the dwarf’s ankle and pulling his feet out from under him, flicking one of his mustache braids with the tip of his sword.

 

Bilbo had often dueled with Fíli the first time round, and knew his tactics well. Thus his ease at putting the prince to the ground.

 

There was another moment of shocked silence as Fíli stared at Bilbo up the blade of the sword.

 

“Losing your touch, Fee?” Kíli spoke up as Bilbo stuck the sword into the soft earth and helped Fíli to his feet, shifting uncomfortably as the stares of a dozen dwarves burned into him.

 

“The lad who taught me to fight used almost identical tactics. I’m used to that style.” Bilbo decided that didn’t count as a lie. He never said _who_ taught him to fight. He _was_ actually talking about Fíli, but none of them would suspect such a thing.

 

“I suggest Gloín then. His style is very different than Fíli’s, and I would like to see how you fare against an axe.” Dwalin spoke up from the door.

  
“Very well. Gloín?” He motioned for the axe master, who heaved himself to his feet with a groan and took Fíli’s place.

 

 


	5. I need to be more careful, I almost said what I wished I had a year or so in the future.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo surprises the company again by putting Gloin on his bum. The hobbit, of course, didn't escape unscathed, but there is no way he's gonna get through this journey without spilling something. Maybe confiding in Balin would help. No. That wouldn't work. Poor Bilbo

“Good match, master Baggins.” Fíli helped a rather bruised Bilbo to his feet, while Dwalin did the same for Gloín. “I daresay you may have given Master Gloín a sizeable whipping. Not to say he didn’t retaliate, but I’ve never seen him have to fight so hard in a training duel.” Bilbo felt a small swell of pride as the gathered dwarves gave a quiet flurry of appraising laughs and glances at the hobbit’s success.

 

“Sneaky sneaky hobbit.” Kíli laughed. “I can’t believe Gloín fell for that though. It’s the oldest trick in the book!” Bilbo couldn’t help but laugh along, holding out a hand for Gloín to shake.

 

“Good match, Master Burglar.” The red-headed dwarf smiled and Bilbo felt his heart swell at how similar he was to his son. It was very easy to tell who Gimli took after, and whose morals he upheld.

 

“This is a touch too big for me. I’ll work with a bow and knives until I can find one that fits me.” Bilbo offered Thorin the hilt of his sword, smiling gently at the Dwarf’s surprised face.

 

“Knives as well, Master Baggins? Let’s see it.” Thorin took his sword and gestured back at the tree (Kíli had just retrieved his arrows and left the faint target still visible in the bark.

 

“Here, use these.” Fíli tossed a bandolier of knives at the hobbit, who caught them deftly.

 

There was no sound as Bilbo drew two of the knives and took aim, slowing his breath. He threw the first with his non-dominant left hand, the recently-sharpened blade sinking easily in the soft bark. This next throw would require more concentration. A deep breath in, and a slow breath out. 

 

Bilbo could feel Thorin’s eyes on him. Burning into him like tiny blue flames.

 

_ No. Concentrate. _

 

Bilbo took another moment to focus and threw the dagger, closing his eyes just after it left his hand. A gasp came from just over the hobbit’s right shoulder.

 

“Alright Dori. Pay up.” Bofur’s voice broke the silence, and Bilbo opened his eyes. The second knife had flown true, and was stuck in the wooden hilt of the first.

 

“How do you know all of this, master Baggins? It’s not as if you must do much fighting around the shire - at least not if it’s as peaceful as it seems.” Balin puffed on his pipe thoughtfully.

 

“I… uh… That’s-- That’s a story for another time.” Bilbo managed to stutter out what he hoped would be an acceptable answer.

 

“For another time? Does that mean you mean  to accompany us?” Kíli chirped hopefully from where he was trying to tug the first knife out of the tree.

 

“Of course. I should have to sign the contract you spoke of earlier though before it’s official.” He winked at the brunette, who grinned widely and let out a laugh. 

 

“Aside from me and Fíli, you seem most eager to come. I applaud that.” He exclaimed, elbowing his uncle, who had been observing the conversation with one cocked eyebrow.

 

“Indeed. Come back inside and we will show you the contract.” Thorin rumbled, walking towards the door.

  
_ Eru help me. _


	6. Yes, I know this song. You taught it to me four months from now.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo finds something shocking while conducting an... /experiment/... and then surprises the dwarves one last time before they leave.

 

 

“ _Incineration._ ” Bilbo mused to himself, though in a very different manner than the first time.

 

“Oh aye. He’ll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye.” Bofur quipped from his seat at the table, chewing on the stem of his pipe thoughtfully. A thought occurred to Bilbo. He never knew how the company had reacted to his fainting the first time, nor how he had woken up in his favorite armchair next to a newly kindled hearth. Perhaps an _experiment_ was in order. The hobbit smothered the conspiratorial smirk with an inconspicuous sneeze.

 

“Flash of light, searing pain, then poof! You’re nothing more than a pile of ash!” Still in that devilishly cheerful tone.

 

 _No wonder I fainted the first time._ Bilbo smothered a chuckle with another sneeze, this time earning himself a knowingly amused glance from Fíli. _That dwarf is far too intuitive for his own good._ The hobbit thought in amusement as he prepared himself for his theatrical “experiment”.

 

“Ah… I-- Nope.” Bilbo let his eyes roll back in his head and promptly collapsed, mind still wide awake. _Am I being_ that _convincing?_ He thought as Kíli shouted in alarm for someone to help “Master Boggins”. A pair of strong arms slipped under his arms and knees, lifting the hobbit easily. As the one holding him stood, Bilbo barely cracked an eye open, and found himself struggling to withhold a gasp of surprise. The long hair tickling his cheek was Thorin’s. _Thorin_ _Oakenshield_ , king under the mountain and stoic leader of the rambunctious company that had invaded his smial, had knelt to pick up this sassy halfling who had snapped at him as he walked in the door and fainted (well, pretended to) at the mere thought of a dragon, and then proceeded to carry him to a comfortable chair and stoke the dying embers of the hearth back up to a blazing fire.

 

 _What in Yavanna’s name?_ The dwarf continued to surprise Bilbo as the night continued, and he had only been here maybe twenty minutes. Bilbo stayed in his faux-faint for another minute or two before opening his eyes and giving a small shout for effect. Kíli immediately appeared at his elbow, hovering next to him as he called Gandalf over.

 

“I’m fine, Kíli. I only need some tea and a moment of quiet. I must admit I wasn’t quite prepared.” Fíli, who was leaning against the doorframe, shot him a knowing look as he tried to reassure the younger of the princes.

 

“I’ll fetch you that tea, master Boggins. Dori just brewed some up for himself and Balin. I’m sure they’ll share.” The dark-haired prince padded out of the room, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at his brother as the blonde smiled that quiet smile at him and gestured at the dining room with his pipe.

 

Bilbo heard muted conversation from the dining room and Kíli reappeared with a steaming mug of green tea and a plate of biscuits.

 

“Here you are.” Kíli lingered next to the armchair.

 

“Lad, you can stop smothering me like a mother hen. I’m still coming. I’ve just never thought I may one day come face to face with a dragon that didn’t only exist between the covers of a book. I was just a touch overwhelmed.” Bilbo laid a reassuring hand on Kíli’s shoulder, smiling when the prince’s anxiously furrowed brow relaxed and he allowed a smile to stretch across his face.

 

“Oh thank Mahal. I was so worried you would turn us away after sounding so excited before.” Kíli mumbled, glancing at his feet sheepishly.

 

“A good portion of the company agreed.” Fíli interjected, blowing a smoke ring and letting the remaining smoke flow out of his nose smoothly.

 

“I believe I will be going to bed. I daresay that - having helped Bombur pack - you may be off early tomorrow.” Bilbo drained the last of his tea and stood, padding out of sight. He stepped through the door, allowing the dwarves to hear him shut the door before he crept back out.

 

 _Ah, yes._ The company had gathered in the sitting room, and had just started humming the opening measures of the song of the misty mountains. _I love this part_. Bilbo smiled softly as Thorin started to sing, his deep rolling voice like liquid velvet that flowed and rippled with each word and syllable.

 

Two measures after Thorin began singing, Bilbo added his voice to the company’s, his lighter lilting tenor melding seamlessly with the chorus of rich basses and baritones that made his lungs vibrate. Fíli - who stood directly across the room from Bilbo - tore his gaze from the flickering hearth and locked eyes with the hobbit.The intensity froze him on the spot, even though the song continued to flow from his lips. Those deep hazel eyes were far too knowing for the dwarf’s age. Bilbo stared back evenly as the song faded off, leaving Thorin and Bilbo the last ones singing. At this point, the entire company turned and saw the halfling, still paralyzed by Fíli’s keen stare. The last notes rang through the air, and Thorin finally looked up, fixing the hobbit with a look as intense as his nephew’s, if not moreso.

 

The silence stretched for what felt like an eternity, Bilbo having to force himself not to squirm under the combined scrutiny of thirteen dwarves and a wizard (who must have appeared sometime during his staring contest with Fíli). He cleared his throat slightly self-consciously as Thorin’s steel-blue eyes bored into Bilbo’s bright hazel ones. “I have signed the contract, and it is sitting on the table. Wake me when you rise, if you please.” He held Thorin’s steady stare a moment longer, before bowing and padding off to his room to pack.

 

 

 


	7. This halfling is very confusing, and it scares me. (Thorin POV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What in middle earth exactly /is/ this sassy charming (admittedly quite cute) creature, and exactly how much does he know?

 

Thorin watched the halfling’s retreating form until it turned a corner and thus disappeared. The sound of that silken tenor harmonizing flawlessly with his own mellow baritone was all that he could think about. A large hand on his shoulder shook him out of his trance.

 

“You alright, laddie?” Dwalin rumbled, his bracers clinking quietly.

 

“How would he know that song?” Thorin glanced questioningly at Fíli. His nephew seemed to have been the first to notice, and seemed to have frozen the hobbit to the spot with the signature Durin stare.

 

“I don’t know. There is something about that halfling… When I arrived at the door he smiled as if he were expecting me, even though Gandalf said he likely would not know us to be arriving. He immediately told me where the food and washroom were, as if he knew those were the two things I most needed after today’s trek.  Nor did he seem very frightened. All of the folk I had seen upon coming here ducked out of the way as if I were some wolf or bear or something to be greatly feared. Master Baggins looked me in the eye without fear. And then when he reprimanded  _ you _ into submission… I thought the lad must be some spell-speaker or something of the like.” Dwalin chuckled to himself.

 

Thorin nodded in agreement. “Aye, he acts as though he is familiar with us, even though I had never even  _ seen _ a hobbit until this night. He already has Fíli and Kíli following him about like lost pups.” Fíli glanced at his uncle upon hearing his name, but seemed to not think much of it, returning to his pipe.

 

“Likely earned their allegiance by talking you down.” Dwalin continued to grin, and Thorin’s distant expression morphed into a stony glare.

 

“Like you wouldn’t have bowed out under such an onslaught.” He growled back, fixing the captain of the guard with the same icy stare that had immobilized the halfling moments before.

 

“Aye. Can’t deny that.” He shrugged.

 

“Do you think he’ll be able to survive? Hobbits are a soft folk, no matter how skilled they are in combat arts.” Thorin furrowed his brow, trying to turn his inexplicably worried expression into a scowl.

 

“I beg to differ.” Bombur spoke up from his place next to Bofur. “He seemed to know exactly what we would need for a harsh and possibly perilous journey. Dried fruits and nuts, copious amounts of jerky, and herbs that he said would purify any water we came across. Sounds like a survivor to me.” 

 

“Aye, and he even said he knew any edible plants we could use between here and Erebor.” Dori chimed in, chewing on his pipe stem thoughtfully.

 

Thorin watched as the entire company interjected some tidbit or another about something the halfling had done or said.

 

“That be as it may, how did he know about Fíli and Kíli being princes?” Balin finally spoke, lifting his eyes from whatever he was writing.

 

That took the leader of the company by surprise, and he choked on the lungful of smoke he had just drawn. After a moment of spluttering and coughing, he finally got his voice back.

 

“He  _ what? _ ” Thorin rasped.

 

“Aye, he called me a  _ princeling _ . How could he know?” Kíli glanced down the hallway, where near-imperceptible rustles told them the Hobbit was still packing.

 

“There are many things puzzling in this world. That hobbit is one of the most so. I would feel much more… comfortable… if Dwalin kept a close watch on him. There is much we have yet to learn, but I’d rather not learn the negative from experience.” Fíli said quietly from his place next to his brother.

 

Thorin nodded in agreement. “Aye. Balin, look over the contract. See to it that everything is in order. We leave at first light.” He spun on his heel and padded down to the guest bedroom he was sharing with the ‘Ur brothers and Balin and Dwalin. It had been a long night, and he was beyond ready for a good night’s rest.

 

 


	8. I have to admit, tall dark and handsome /is/ my type. Always will be, as far as I remember.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo decides that a little bit of devilishness isn't enough. Thorin finds himself dumbstruck at this halfling's boldness, but not repulsed by it in the least. They're both oblivious to each other's motives/reactions of course. What fun would it be if they could read into each other like normal people do? >xD

  
  


Bilbo hummed the familiar dwarvish tune to himself as he busied himself with cooking breakfast. He had come to a conclusion last night while packing and writing his legal documents that were to be taken to the thain. Thorin didn’t seem to show any interest last time ‘round, so the hobbit would try a different approach this time. Now that he knew - through studying during his short time at Erebor - Dwarvish courtship traditions and subtle signs that the company would consider ignorance of cultural practices, he could use them to his advantage. In fact, he had not slept at all that night, having instead decided to purchase some odds and ends he could use for multiple purposes along the journey.

 

So absorbed was the hobbit in his thoughts and task, that he did not notice that the very dwarf at the center of his plans shuffled into the room and froze at the door.

 

“How do you know that song, master burglar?” The hobbit near jumped out of his skin at the dwarf’s murmured question. He had forgotten that he was still humming.

 

Without turning around, the hobbit identified the source of the question and allowed his shoulders to relax slightly. “Good morning to you too, master Oakenshield. If you could set  out some plates, breakfast should be ready by the time the rest of the company comes out of hibernation.” Bilbo skillfully danced around the question, feeling the two points of fire directed at the back of his skull hesitate before the dwarf shuffled closer. 

 

Bilbo’s breath caught in his throat as the dwarf came into view. He cut quite a figure in profile like this, especially in the warm flickering light of the candlebraz the hobbit was cooking by the light of. It would have been trouble enough if the dwarf hadn’t been bare-chested.

 

The hobbit made sure his voice was clear and steady when he commented, “As handsome as you are shirtless, I will  _ not _ have chest hairs in my cooking thank you very much. Go put a shirt on, then you can help.” 

 

Thorin froze, and although Bilbo’s eyes were fixed on the pan of bacon sizzling on the stove, he could  _ feel _ the intensity of the stare the tall dwarf was directing in his direction. 

 

“Go on now. Don’t make me swat you.” He brandished the spatula he was using to flip the sizzling breakfast meat in Thorin’s direction, flipping a page in the book he had propped in front of him, picking back up the tune he had been humming when the dwarf first entered the room.

 

As the dwarf retreated from the room and shuffled back down the hall, Bilbo let out a breath he didn’t even know he had been holding. 

 

_ You must have a death wish you reckless fool of a Took. _ One part of his mind roared. 

 

Another contradicted it, saying,  _ Ah, but as a Baggins, the risk was a calculated one. It seems to have paid off thusfar, seeing as you yet maintain possession of your scalp. _

 

Bilbo allowed an amused smile creep across his face, and was still humming when Thorin returned - this time fully clothed - and started setting out plates. The tension in the room was so thick you could cut it with a broadsword when Balin shuffled into the room with a yawn and proceeded to help Thorin with the table, offering quiet conversation in Khûzdul to the king-in-exile.

 

* * *

 

 

Thorin paused at the door to the kitchen. He had expected to be the first one awake, and was thus surprised to find a quietly humming hobbit busying himself at the stove an hour before dawn.

 

Gathering his courage, the dwarrow spoke quietly, voice barely above a whisper in the heavy quiet that was punctuated only by the hobbit’s humming. “How do you know that song, Master burglar?”

 

If the hobbit was startled, he didn’t show it.

 

“Good morning to you too, master Oakenshield.” The hobbit chirped in response, and Thorin didn’t need to see his face to know the halfling was smiling. “If you could set  out some plates, breakfast should be ready by the time the rest of the company comes out of hibernation.” Thorin forced himself not to snort at the hobbit’s obvious avoidance of the question he was presented, but decided that it was too early to try to pry secrets out of the hobbit. Perhaps he could find a way to loosen that silver tongue. Alcohol, maybe? Anywho, that was a problem for another time. The dwarf hesitated a moment before moving forward to open the cabinet and remove the proper number of plates. He purposefully stepped into the hobbit’s space, while feigning ignorance at the fact that there was a whole two feet off to the left that he could be occupying.

 

“As handsome as you are shirtless, I will  _ not _ have chest hairs in my cooking thank you very much. Go put a shirt on, then you can help.” Thorin almost choked on his own tongue at the halfling’s brazen comment. He turned his entire head, staring as the hobbit turned a page of the book propped in front of him distractedly.

 

Had the hobbit looked, he would have seen the mixture of disbelief and smugness warring in Thorin’s eyes. 

 

After a moment or two, Thorin pulled himself together and backed away, fleeing quietly down the hall to retrieve his faded blue tunic, purposefully leaving the top ties undone for a reason the dwarf himself could not fathom. What was it about this creature that had him acting like some naïve dwarfling with a crush? By dwarvish standards he was nothing less than odd. Short and barefoot and lacking any kind of facial hair, but somehow incredibly alluring. No. Dwalin was right. The halfling was some sort of spell-speaker.

 

Thorin wasn’t falling for this witchcraft.

 

No.

 

He was red because it was hot.

 

Definitely not because he was blushing.

 

That was not it.

 

It was hot.

Yes.

 

That was it.

  
  


When Thorin had pulled himself together enough, he returned to the kitchen, retrieving the pile of plates he had set on the counter in his haste to flee the room before the brazen hobbit had noticed the dwarf’s flusterment. 

 

Not three minutes later, Balin shuffled into the room, diffusing some of the tension that lay palpable and thick over the room.

 

|<You’re up early, laddie. May I ask what has our fearless leader fleeing sleep?>| The old dwarrow inquired in quiet Khûzdul, mirth twinkling in his sharp eyes.

 

|<The hobbit’s humming and the smell of food drew me out of bed.>| Thorin replied bluntly in the same tongue.

 

|<Aye, it does smell good.>| Balin relented, helping Thorin set out the cutlery.

 

Both Dwarves were completely unaware of the fact that the hobbit had finished cooking, made it so the food would stay warm, and slunk out of kitchen and smial. Nor would they realize until Kíli pointed out that the hobbit had not joined the company for breakfast and had altogether disappeared.

 

 

* * *

 

 

**A/N --**

 

**| < = Khuzdul dialogue**

 

 


	9. I'm just taking a precaution that I know we will need... a week from now, if I remember correctly.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo sorts out some family business and finds himself a rather useful pony. Thorin is impressed.

  


Bilbo continued to hum quietly to himself as he approached Bree through the light morning mist. There was one thing the hobbit had purchased that would have been inconvenient for him to bring back to Bag End.

 

“Master Baggins! I trust you are here to retrieve Maha. He is in the far box stall with the open window.” The stablemaster greeted the hobbit cheerfully from where he was mixing grain feed.

 

“Thank you, Alec. I promise to take good care of him.” The hobbit smiled at the ranger and proceeded to the stable mentioned. A dainty black head adorned with a white star and pink snip peered over the stable door, pricking small erect ears and giving a quiet knicker at Bilbo’s approach.

 

“Hello Maha. How are you, handsome? Are you up for an adventure?” The hobbit let himself into the stall and tacked the Rohan pony quickly. He led the pony out into the aisle before he swung into the saddle with the help of the stablemaster **/** ranger Alec.

 

“Ride swift, master hobbit. Do not let any stand in your way, and Maha will guide you wherever you wish to go. Also, if you need him to come to you, simply whistle. He will come to your call.” The ranger waved the hobbit off with a knowing smile.

 

Bilbo kept the rohan pony at an easy walk as he rode to his destination. He dropped the reins and slid off Maha’s back as the gelding minced to a stop outside a round white door with brass hinges. It was late enough now that Bilbo could see and hear the activity within. Without hesitation, the hobbit steeled his nerves and rang the doorbell.

 

“Bilbo, my boy! What brings you here? And why do you have a pony?” The portly hobbit that answered the door was very similar to Bilbo in his features, but his hair was snowy white and there were pronounced smile wrinkles around his eyes.

 

“I came to leave you a notice of my departure from Hobbiton. I will write to you after a year or maybe a year and a half to let you know if I will be returning. These documents hold my directions for who to entrust my smial to in my absence and who to keep it from.” Bilbo smiled at his uncle, and gave a grunt of surprise when he was pulled into a hug by the older hobbit.

 

“I knew you would take after your mother. Be careful with yourself, my boy, but follow your heart. It only ever did your mother good, and you are nothing if not dear Belladonna’s son.” The elderly hobbit smiled tearily at Bilbo and took the documents. “Be careful of the dwarrow-folk though. If your mother taught me anything, it is that the sons of Mahal are too charming to resist.” He said in mock-seriousness, obviously trying to fight back a face-splitting smile.

 

_Oh if only you knew how close to the truth you really are._

 

“Just be careful.” The thain of Hobbiton released his nephew with a smile and pointed to where Maha was waiting patiently. “And don’t you waste that pretty pony.” He chuckled and patted Bilbo’s shoulder reassuringly, bidding him farewell.

 

Bilbo turned back to the rohan pony, a small smile gracing his features. “Come on then, Maha. We have a company of dwarrow to catch.”

  


* * *

  


“Uncle, we can’t leave without our burglar! We don’t know where he went!” Kíli protested indignantly as Thorin shut the round green door of Bilbo’s smial with maybe a little more force than necessary.

 

“If master Baggins wishes to accompany us, he must not hinder us.” Was Thorin’s reply.

 

There was relative silence until the company was maybe an hour’s ride out from Hobbiton.

 

“Thorin! Rider approaching at speed from the rear!” Dwalin called from the back of the company.

 

Thorin bared his teeth and wheeled Minty about, prepared to confront this mysterious rider. The snarl faded from his face, however, as the rider drew closer, pulling the pony down to an easy trot and mincing to a halt in front of Thorin.

 

“Leaving without me, were you?” Bilbo chirped, a cheeky smile on his face as the pony worried at his bit contentedly.

 

“Bilbo Baggins, where did you disappear to?” Gandalf had turned his horse and addressed the hobbit with a curious expression on his face.

 

“I had some documents to deliver to Old Took,” Bilbo replied easily.

 

“Of course… The thain should know of his nephew’s travels. I apologize for not having that prepared.” Gandalf inclined his head at the hobbit. “Where did you get your hands on a rohan pony? I daresay they aren’t easy to come by this far west.” The wizard’s eyes twinkled under the broad gray brim of his ridiculous pointy hat.

 

“I hav--” Bilbo started, but was cut off by Kíli, who had ridden up beside him and was trying to keep his roan mare from biting Bilbo’s handsome pony.

 

“You’re the nephew of the ruler of this area?” Kíli cocked his head at Bilbo, excitement evident in his expressive hazel eyes.

 

“Well, in all technicality, I suppose so. Hierarchy works very differently among hobbits--” He was cut off again, but this time by Balin.

 

“Gandalf. You failed to mention that we were riding with - in essence - a hobbit prince?” There was an upward tilt at the end of the sentence, but it was more an accusation than a question.

 

“Ah… As Bilbo was trying to explain, hobbits do not follow strict hierarchy like dwarves and men and elves. The thain is more a title than anything else.” Gandalf said smoothly.

 

“You felt this was unimportant enough to merely overlook?” This time it was Thorin who silenced the low chattering that had spread through the company.

 

“I--” Gandalf made to defend himself, but Bilbo cut him off.

 

“Enough bickering. We have ground to cover, and I fear Balin may be correct about the approaching rain. We had best reach the plains before the Brandywine overwashes the crossing point. I would hate to be stuck here too much longer.” Bilbo urged his pony forward with a cluck of his tongue. The leggy pony chewed on the bit some more and tried to get it between his teeth.

 

Thorin watched quietly as the hobbit laughed and assured his pony that he should save his speed until it was needed, soothing his prancing steed with low words and gentle strokes on the black pony’s elegantly arched neck. He could have sworn he heard the hobbit call the pony Mahal. He needed to clear that up.

 

Thorin kissed at Minty, turning the mare to fall into step beside Bilbo’s handsome black gelding.

 

“I heard you speaking to your pony. What is his name?” Thorin attempted for casual, but felt like it sounded choked. If Bilbo noticed, then he didn’t mention it.

 

“His name is Maha. That is the name the ranger I purchased him from had given him when he was just a colt.” Bilbo stroked the silky mane again. “It’s the only name he answers to.”

 

That piqued Thorin’s interest. “Answers to? Does he come when you call?”

 

“He does. He will come to his name and he will come to a whistle. That’s the reason I wanted a Rohan pony. They are trained to do so from the day they are weaned.” Bilbo smiled as Maha snorted and nodded his head as if in agreement.

 

Thorin decided that perhaps this hobbit could be very _very_ useful.

 


	10. You think your fellow Dwarves are stubborn? Try arguing with a hobbit like myself. I'll teach you a whole new meaning of the word.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Fili and Kili continue to stir up trouble, Thorin finds that not even a dwarrow king can argue with a hobbit, and Bilbo needs to find a way to not let loose the occasional Khûzdul curse.

  


Bilbo was puffing contentedly on his pipe when the shriek of an orc echoed across the valley, stirring many of the company to their feet.

 

“Do orcs normally come this far west?” He inquired to Gandalf around the stem of his pipe as another shriek echoes, waking Thorin, who had been napping off to the side.

 

“Don’t worry of them, master Baggins. Any attack by them would be swift and painless. Quick and quiet, no screams” Kíli said solemnly, the mischievous twinkle in his eye only revealed by the flickering campfire.

 

“You think you’re so clever. I happen to know that the _Ezuhkhalam_ are anything but sneaky. We can obviously hear them, and they’re over a league away.” Bilbo retorted, letting slip the Khûzdul word for orc without thinking.

 

“Aye. You think that is funny?” Thorin growled from where he had risen to his feet. “You think a night raid by orcs is a joke?” He had obviously missed Bilbo’s slip-up.

 

“We meant nothing by it.” Kíli developed a sudden interest in his boots as he muttered a regretful excuse to his uncle.

 

“Of course you didn’t. You know nothing of the world.” Thorin snarled, turning away. There was pain evident in his eyes for those who chanced to look

 

Fíli and Kíli looked very put out. Balin noticed this and spoke to comfort them. Bilbo remembered where this led and settled himself as comfortably as he could against the trunk of the tree he was occupying, relighting his pipe with a quick strike of flint against steel (one of his purchases from the night before).

 

Balin launched into the tale, capturing the enraptured attention of ten dwarrows and a wizard. Bilbo’s eyes, however, were fixed on the object of the story, who sat stony and silent next to his pony as Minty grazed contentedly, obviously not fazed by the orc pack in the distance. He rose again as Balin wrapped up his story and all attention was directed to the king-in-exile.

 

Bilbo swallowed around the lump in his throat and asked the same question he had the first time around. “And the pale orc? Azog? What happened to him?”

 

Thorin bared his teeth in a fierce sneer. “Slunk back into the hole whence he came. That _filth-_ ” The dwarf bit out the word with venom enough to slay a dragon. How ironic. “-Died of his wounds long ago.”

 

Bilbo glanced at Gandalf, who averted his eyes, chewing on his pipe stem distractedly. The wizard knew otherwise.

 

The others settled down to sleep, spreading bed rolls.

 

“We heard orcs, so we may as well set a watch. Who will take first shift?” Balin asked as he spread his own roll.

 

Thorin opened his mouth to reply, but Bilbo was having none of it, cutting off the dwarrow before he could utter a sound. “I’ll take first watch. I’ll wake Dwalin at moonhigh.” The last part was a lie. He could sleep on horseback, and trusted Maha to do as he should while his rider slept, so he had long since decided to take the whole night. He had many things to think about anyway.

 

Stunned silence fell over the camp at the hobbit’s words. Ori looked around, unable to locate the hobbit.

 

“Up here Ori.” Bilbo dropped a twig on the scribe’s head, causing him to look up.

 

“I’m too lazy to get down, so I’ll keep watch from up here for now.” The rest of the company had figured out where the hobbit had spoken from him and were all scrutinizing him. Thorin’s mouth still hung open from when he had attempted to volunteer.

 

“Master Burglar, I daresay that it would only be detrimental for you to take _any_ watch tonight. You think nobody would notice your outing last night?” Nori commented from across the campfire.

 

“I didn’t expect it to go unnoticed, but I must insist that after such traveling as you lot have done, you may want a break.” Bilbo retorted smoothly, meeting the thief’s eyes levelly.

 

“Mister Boggins--”Kíli started, but Bilbo was having as little of it from the prince as he was from his uncle, which amounted to a grand total of nothing.

 

“Don’t try to argue. Unless one of you wants to climb up here and drag me to my bedroll, I’m not going anywhere. I have signed the contract, now let me prove my conviction.” Bilbo blew a smoke ring lazily, drawing a low chuckle from Gandalf. “And it’s _Baggins._ ”

 

“I daresay that there is no swaying a hobbit once his mind is made up. I assure you he will not run off in the night.” The wizard chortled.

 

Bilbo felt Thorin’s eyes on him as he relaxed back against the solid bark of the tree and blew another smoke ring.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Thorin watched as the halfling settled his back to the tree once more.

 

“Halfling.” Thorin paced up to the tree, swinging up to a low branch.

 

“Hmm?” Was the noncommittal reply he got.

 

“Why do you insist on this?” There was more steel in Thorin’s voice than he had intended.

 

“Because I wish to prove my allegiance. Is that so hard to believe?” The hobbit didn’t look at Thorin, instead opting to pull a small notebook and jot something in it.

 

“Not so much, but I still wish to know your motives.” The dwarf pressed stubbornly.

 

“I just told you my ‘motives’ as you so eloquently put it. No need to be redundant.” The halfling clucked his tongue in mock-disappointment.

 

“You-- oh blast it.” Thorin growled under his breath. And he thought _dwarrows_ were stubborn.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ezuhkhalam translates directly to 'Hate Elves', seeing as orcs are the reanimated twisted corpses of battle-slain elves.


	11. Oh no...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bilbo makes a decision and has sensitive ears, Dwalin is grumpy, Kili is mischevious, Thorin is oblivious, and Bofur is cheeky.

  


Bilbo cast his gaze over the sleeping forms of thirteen dwarrow and a wizard. He was expecting the wave of fondness that crashed over him, but it still left his chest clenched and his cheeks aching from the face-splitting smile he wore.

 

The hobbit was done and through with seeing his old friends and being torn by the grief of their fates.

 

This time would be different.

 

The Valar be damned if Bilbo was going to let all that happen again.

  


The

 

Valar

 

Be

 

Damned.

  


\---

  


Bilbo was mapping the stars and constellations in his little notebook when the shuffle of not-so-quiet feet drew the hobbit’s eyes from the stars.

 

“It’s hours past moonhigh, master Burglar.” Dwalin’s distinct rumble sounded from below the hobbit’s perch.

 

“I am aware of that, Fundinson.” Bilbo glanced down at the mountain of a dwarf, who had fixed the hobbit with his trademark glower.

 

“Then why didn’t you wake me?”

 

“I felt no need to. I am quite awake, and you were sleeping rather soundly.” Bilbo quipped, meeting the stony glare with an ease that comes only from experience.

 

“Yet you said you would rouse me at moonhigh.” Dwalin repeated.

 

“I said I would, but had no intention whatsoever of doing so. I only said it so that Thorin wouldn’t send Fíli and Kíli to drag me down from my comfortable perch.” Bilbo returned his attention to the stars.

 

“How do you know he wouldn’t either way.” A new voice growled in Bilbo’s ear.

 

“Ah, I was wondering when you would join me, Thorin. You’ve been shifting in your fake-sleep for hours now.” Bilbo wasn’t surprised by the other dwarf’s appearance, but the king’s rich baritone being _that_ close to his ear made him shiver.

 

“I told you that you should have been more careful, uncle.” Kíli chimed from the branch above Bilbo, fixing Thorin with a disappointed stare.

 

“Ah, Kíli too? How many more of you are abandoning sleep just to pester me?”

 

“Just the four of us.” Bofur was suddenly hanging upside-down not quite six inches in front of Bilbo, his hat held to his head with one hand.

 

“Good, now, if you please, I would like to continue my watch in peace. Go back to bed.” He tweaked Bofur’s nose for emphasis, drawing an indignant yelp from the toymaker.

 

“At least allow Dwalin to hold watch with you. He likely would do so anyway.” Thorin rumbled in Bilbo’s ear, making goosebumps rise once more on his neck and shoulders and another pleasant shiver run down his spine.

 

Of course, Kíli had to notice this.

 

“Are you cold, master Boggins?”

 

_Oh sweet Eru. Does that dwarfling miss a single thing?_

 

“O-of course not, Kíli.” He heard his voice shake, cursing himself.

 

“That, master burglar, is a lie.” Thorin rumbled again, even closer than before, and Bilbo did his best not to shiver again. Alas, it was in vain.

 

“Kíli, Bofur. Go to bed before I drag you there myself. One person on watch is plenty, two I can handle, but five? No. Go. To. Bed.” He tweaked Bofur’s nose again, this time earning himself a pinch on the cheek.

 

“And leave our favorite halfling to fend for himself against mister overbearing bodyguard? Not a chance!” Bofur grinned cheekily, seemingly oblivious of the icy glare Dwalin was trying to burn a hole in his head with.

 

Bilbo heard a low sound from behind him, and felt long hair against his neck. He shivered again, silently cursing in every language he knew.

 

“Are you sick, master burglar?” Thorin had moved into Bilbo’s peripheral field of vision, and was watching the hobbit with furrowed brows.

 

“Sick?” Bilbo scoffed. “I would be monumentally cranky and far more willing to go to bed if I was sick. You needn’t worry about me.” He attempted a cheery chirp, but Thorin looked less than impressed.

 

“You have shivered four times now, and I’ve only been here for three minutes.”

 

“It’s a touch nippy out. Can you blame me?” Bilbo cocked an eyebrow at Thorin, who was _very much_ in the hobbit’s personal bubble.

 

“No, but I cannot rest while y-- any member of my company is unreasonably uncomfortable.” Thorin side-eyed the hobbit, his long black hair brushing Bilbo’s shoulders and just barely tickling the tips of his ears.

 

He shivered again.

 

 _Thrice-damned sensitive ears!_ Bilbo mentally let loose a string of expletives that would make his father blanch with embarrassment and his mother swell with pride.

 

“Bilbo, you realize that you’re gonna have to get down now unless you want Thorin here slinging you over his shoulder and carrying you down himself.” Bofur chirped, the cheeky smile having never left his face.

 

“Bugger. I was almost done with my star map.” Bilbo grumbled as Thorin nodded his affirmative, hair brushing Bilbo’s ear-tip again and drawing another shudder from the hobbit.

 

“Are you certain you are not sick?” Thorin laid a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder, prompting the hobbit to look at him. Bilbo complied with a huff, meeting steely blue eyes crinkled with concern.

 

“I’m just fine, Thorin.” The hobbit rolled his eyes theatrically and let himself fall backward, catching himself with his knees and swinging upside down in a manner similar to Bofur, who let out a laugh.

 

“See? Fine.” He grinned at Thorin, who was now scowling down at the hobbit.

 

“Being sick does not affect mischief. Fíli and Kíli taught me that.” Thorin dropped to the ground so that Bilbo’s face - still upside-down - was level with his chest.

 

“True enough.” He giggled as blood rushed to his head.

 

Bofur and Kíli alit next to Thorin as Bilbo dropped to the ground with a small flip, landing lightly on his toes.

 

“C’mon mister Boggins.” Kíli chirped, advancing with his hands held out.

 

“Oh no no no no no! I will _not_ have you carrying me t--” Bilbo’s tirade was cut short by the solid wall of dwarf he had backed into. Dwalin wasted no time, grabbing Bilbo under his arms in an attempt to sling the hobbit over his shoulder.

 

Bilbo let out a panicked shriek of laughter at the pressure on his ribs.

 

Thorin was instantly at his side. “Bilbo? What’s wrong?”

 

Dwalin had not yet released the hobbit, so Bilbo was still squirming and giggling.

 

“Tick- iep! Ticklish!” Bilbo gasped between laughs.

 

This time it was Kíli who materialized next to Dwalin, but instead of worry, Kíli’s face was a mask of innocence the Bilbo knew only meant trouble.

 

_Oh no…_

 


	12. Apparently Bofur functions well enough as a pillow, seeing as my neck isn't protesting at me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo finds himself in a rather comfortable cocoon, but the creators of said cocoon are reluctant to get up.

Bilbo groaned and opened his eyes against the harsh assault of the sun’s rays.

 

 _Why do my ribs hurt so much?_ Bilbo wondered to himself. He attempted to unfold himself to stretch, but found himself rather pinned.

 

“Good morning, mister Boggins~!” Bilbo groaned as the events of last night washed over him.

 

“Kíli.”

 

Bilbo was sandwiched between Fíli and Kíli, both of them curled into the hobbit rather endearingly. Fíli was to Bilbo’s left, his blonde hair tickling the hobbit’s nose as he snored gently, still asleep. Kíli was to Bilbo’s right, his head tucked into the hollow where the hobbit’s neck met his shoulder, and had greeted him happily, if a little muffledly. Both dwarf princes had made some possessive claim over the hobbit while he was asleep, seeing as Fíli had his head on Bilbo’s shoulder and an arm around his waist, and Kíli had wrapped one of his legs around Bilbo’s and had left a hand resting over Bilbo’s sternum.

 

“Will you let the poor fellow up, boys?” This time it was Bofur who commented. Upon lifting his head, Bilbo found that Bofur’s departure was what had roused the hobbit, seeing as the toymaker’s bedroll was directly under the hobbit’s head, and Bilbo had only assumed that the combination of that and the fact that Bilbo was missing his pillow added up to the assumption that Bofur had played the role of dwarven pillow.

 

“Don’t wanna.” Fíli mumbled sleepily from where his face was tucked neatly into the hobbit’s shoulder.

 

“Fee, it looks like Bombur has breakfast ready. Don’t want to miss that, do ya?” Bofur persisted, earning a grateful glance from Bilbo, despite how warm his dwarven cocoon was.

 

Bofur just winked in reply, nudging Kíli with his foot. “C’mon boys, up and at ‘em.”

 

“Fine, fine.” The brunette grumbled, disentangling himself from Bilbo and rising to his feet, staggering slightly as he stretched. “Oogh. Bofur, remind me to not attack a hobbit unless I am very well prepared to do so.” He grimaced. “I daresay that today’s ride will be rather uncomfortable.”

 

“Serves you right. Imagine if I had done the same to you. Completely justified.” Bilbo shifted, trying to extricate himself from Fíli, but the prince was having none of it, tightening his hold and burying his face more firmly into Bilbo’s shoulder, sighing happily.

 

“Fíli, I will tie your braids in knots if you do not get your silly sappy dwarf self off me.” Bilbo squirmed some more, a twinge of regret flaring through his mind as Fíli finally relented, propping himself up on one arm and running a hand over his face, trying to stifle a yawn.

 

“Thank you, now, I think I heard Bofur say something about breakfast.” Bilbo scrambled to his feet, his ribs aching lightly in protest as he plopped himself down on a log next to Bofur

 

“Aye. You lads run along.” Bofur made a shooing motion with his hands.

 

“I daresay you weren’t the most uncomfortable pillow.” Bilbo joked as Fíli and Kíli scrambled toward the fire.

 

“I daresay you were a rather accepting teddy-bear.” Bofur replied, offering Bilbo his pipe. Bilbo took a long draw, letting the heavy smoke pool in his lungs before sighing it out with a satisfied hum.

 

“Longbottom leaf?” Bilbo inquired, recognizing the heady molasses flavor of the high-end pipe-weed.

 

“Always classy, Bilbo. Always classy.” Bofur took back his pipe and drew a lungful himself, releasing it through his nostrils.

 

“The boys got you breathing smoke already?” Bilbo teased, rising to his feet.

 

“You think you’re joking _now_. Jes’ wait ‘ntil they get their paws on some ale.” Bofur laughed around the stem of his pipe.

  
The two sauntered off toward Bombur, completely oblivious of the dwarf king who had watched the entire exchange with a steely glare.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter is so short! I just needed to get a bit of fluff-writing off my chest (hand?). I will do my best to keep my chapters longer.


	13. You needn't worry about crossing your fingers. This rain only lasts an hour or two, if memory serves.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gandalf gets suspicious, Bilbo is sassy, Shadowfax knows things, and the princes set Bilbo up for something unpleasant.

  
  


“Bilbo! Your pony’s missing!” Bilbo rolled his eyes and rose to his feet as Fíli shouted from atop the boulder from where he had been keeping an eye on the ponies.

 

“He’s entitled to wander.” The hobbit called back.

 

“What if he’s been taken!?” Came the reply.

 

Bilbo huffed and go to his feet, stopping at the base of the boulder and issuing a sharp whistle.

 

“Hey! What was that for?” Kíli appeared next to Bilbo, rubbing his ears.

 

“Look.” Bilbo pointed at the horizon, where the little black Rohan pony was pounding across the valley.

 

“Wow… That’s impressive.” Fíli and Kíli muttered in unison.

 

“Impressive indeed, master burglar.” Thorin must have padded up while Bilbo was watching the horizon, and his appearance startled the hobbit, who jolted, before relaxing with a laugh.

 

“Bilbo, my friend, do you see what I see?” Gandalf spoke up, coming to a stop next to the hobbit, eyes fixed on the pale shape that accompanied Maha.

 

“If you mean Shadowfax, then yes. I’ve read that Rohan-bred horses and ponies have a tendency to attract the attention of the Meeras no matter where they are. I’m not all that surprised.”

 

“I did not know that you knew of the Meeras, my friend.” Gandalf was looking at him oddly.

 

“I know many things, my illustrious friend.” Bilbo quipped, grinning to himself as the two horses approached.

 

“Meeras? What’s that, master Gandalf?” Kíli inquired, still watching the horses.

 

“Horse-lords, my boy. They are similar to the goat-kings your people so revere.”

 

“Oh! Really?”

 

“I have heard of the Horse-lords. You have too, Kíli. In Khûzdul, we call them the  _ Fzul-Khozoh _ .” Thorin commented as the pair of horses pounded to a stop in front of the group, snorting and tossing their heads proudly.

 

“Shadowfax.” Gandalf approached the white horse, holding out a hand for the stallion to sniff. The wizard murmured something in Sindarin too low for Bilbo to understand, but the Meera seemed to agree, bobbing his head with a snort.

 

“Thorin, step forward.” Gandalf waved the dwarf toward the tall stallion, stepping back.

 

Bilbo watched as Thorin glanced at Balin, who had been watching silently the entire time. The older dwarf nodded, and Thorin took three steps forward, holding his hand out in a similar manner to Gandalf.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Thorin felt very small in the quiet scrutiny of the  _ Fzul-Khozoh _ . He felt the power that surrounded the horse. Shadowfax pressed his soft nose into Thorin’s palm, nostrils flaring as he inhaled Thorin’s scent.

 

A low voice echoed in the back of his mind, almost like the rumble of distant thunder.

 

_ |< You are in able company, king under the mountain. >|  _ Thorin barely managed to contain a gasp as the horse-lord spoke.

 

_ |< I know that I am. I would trust each one with my life.>|  _ He replied in low Khûzdul, trusting the horse-lord to understand.

 

_ |< Even the one of whom you know nothing?>| _ Deep brown eyes bored into Thorin’s.

 

_ |< The halfling? Yes, even him. I know not of how he knows what he does, but there is something behind my eyes that tells me that further on he will be of great use.>| _

 

_ |< That voice is correct. Do not fret, Thorin of Erebor. You will know when the time comes.>| _

 

Thorin frowned at the vague statement, but something told him that he would not be able to fish a straight answer from any friend of Gandalf’s.

 

_ |< It is wise to be careful, but allow yourself to live. As much as the destination may matter, it is truly the journey that leaves the most lasting impression. One is more likely to be followed if they leave a trail as much as they leave an indentation. Travel swift, Thorin of Erebor, and let not anything stand in your path. Help may come from within, and from those you do not expect it from. Travel with an open heart and an open mind. Travel far. Travel well.>| _ And with those words, the stallion withdrew his head, knickered at Gandalf, and came to a halt next to a very quiet hobbit.

 

Bilbo looked up at the stallion, eyes wide and glistening with an emotion Thorin could not identify. Something seemed to pass between them, then the  _ Fzul-Khozoh _ tossed his head and galloped off, long tail flowing as he disappeared beyond the hills and out of sight.

 

“You have remarkable connections, Gandalf.” Thorin commented as the Horse-lord disappeared.

 

“I have lived for an age, master dwarf. I should expect that I should have met many a being great and humble.” The wizard shot a pointed glance at Bilbo, who was watching something over the ridge distractedly.

 

Thorin cocked an eyebrow at the wizard. “It appears that you are not well-versed in subtlety, despite your experience.” He retorted.

 

“Gandalf? Are the meeras children of Yavanna?” Bilbo suddenly spoke up.

 

“Few know the origins of the Horse-lords, though it is believed that they were the first offspring of Yvanna and Mahal, as they have all the spirit and speed of Yavanna’s children, and possess the fierce loyalty and power of the children of Mahal.” Gandalf answered, a look of contemplation falling over his features.

 

“Okay…” Bilbo murmured, stroking his pony’s neck absently.

 

“That makes sense. And their children became the many breeds we know of now.” Thorin mused.

 

“Now that all of the ponies are accounted for, we should get a move on. If we leave now, we should reach Trollshaw in time to set up camp without losing the light.” The wizard clutched at his robes and whistled for his horse, who plodded over, heavy hooves alerting the group of his arrival.

 

“Aye. Let’s go.” Thorin agreed, before shouting to the rest of the company to mount up.

  
  


\---

  
  


“Here, Master Gandalf! Can’t you do something about this deluge?” Dori called crankily from his spot in line as he fought to keep the rain out of his eyes.

 

Thorin rolled his eyes as Gandalf called back with a snarky “It is raining, master Dwarf, and it will continue to rain until the rain is done. If you wish to change the weather of the world, you should find yourself another wizard.”

 

“And are there any? Other wizards?” Bilbo piped up from just behind Gandalf.

 

“There are five of us. The greatest of our order is Saruman, the white. Then there are the two blue wizards… Though I seem to have quite forgotten their names.”

 

“And who is the fifth?” Bilbo prompted, and Thorin glanced back. The hobbit looks even smaller wet, with his burnt-honey curls plastered to his forehead and his little pert nose scrunched up as he tried to avoid getting rain in his eyes, yet still managing to look completely intrigued. It was rather endearing.

 

_ Wait. Endearing? _ Where’d that come from? Thorin shook his head, banishing the thought from his mind.

 

“Well, that would be Radagast, the brown.”

 

“Is he a great wizard, or is he… more like you?” Thorin could hear the smirk in the halfling’s voice and fought to swallow a chuckle as Gandalf made an affronted noise in the back of his throat.

 

“I think he’s a very great wizard, in his own way. He’s a gentle soul who prefers the company of animals to others. He keeps a watchful eye on the vast forest lands to the east, and a good thing too, for always evil seeks to find a foothold in these lands.” The wizard trailed off, wringing out his overlarge sleeves with a look of contemplation on his face.

 

“Aye. I suggest that the next time you see him you should alert him of the mess his bird tenants have made down the side of his face. He seemed quite oblivious of it last time I saw him.” The hobbit’s voice was laced with mirth.

 

This time Gandalf fully turned around to stare outright at the smiling halfling.

 

“What? I find it slightly disgusting to think of bird…  _ excrement _ being plastered to the side of one’s face, whether he knows it or not.”

 

“I did not know you had met Radagast before, master Baggins.” There was a cautious note to Gandalf’s voice.

 

“Once, in passing. I doubt he would remember me. He has a staff similar to yours but with a sapphire essence stone instead of smoky quartz, and a hat relatively similar to Bofur’s?” 

 

“Yes, that would be him.” Gandalf replied, still sounding rather distracted.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Bilbo dropped his conversation with Gandalf, seeing as the wizard’s distracted state would likely be conducive to very little. He circled Maha back to ride between Fíli and Kíli’s matching mares and just behind Bofur’s bay gelding.

 

“Lovely weather we’re having, eh boys?” The hobbit attempted at a joke.

 

“Oh aye, I pray such pleasant conditions follow us, Mahal bless.” Kíli snarked back, earning a bark of laughter from his brother as the fair-haired prince swung his dripping braids out of his face.

 

“You had better be crossing your fingers, Kee. I’m gonna strangle you if we end up drowned rats by the time we reach Esgaroth.” Fíli shifted his reins to one hand and ruffled Bilbo’s curls teasingly. “You too Master Baggins.”

 

“Fíli Durinson. If you do not quit calling me ‘master’ I will push you off your horse. I am master of nothing. I don’t call you Prince Fíli, do I? Would you like me to?” Fíli shook his head, a toothy smile on his face. “Then quit calling me ‘master’.” Bilbo finished with a huff, flipping Fíli’s bangs over his face in return.

 

“Fine  _ Bilbo _ .” The prince laughed.

 

“Thank you  _ Fíli _ .” The hobbit echoed mockingly.

 

The effect was ruined by a rather annoying allergy.

 

“ _ Ah… Ah-kertchEEW! _ ” Bilbo almost fell off Maha’s back with the force of his sneeze.

 

“That was by far  _ the _ most adorable thing I’ve heard in a long time.” Kíli laughed after a moment.

 

“Shut  _ up _ .” The disgruntled hobbit growled, rubbing furiously at his itching nose with his handkerchief. “I can’t help it that my nose has been itching incessantly since this morning.”

 

“You know what that means, Fíli~” The brunette said in a singsong voice.

 

“Aye, and you know  _ who _ that means, Kee.” Fíli laughed in response.

 

“What are you two rascals on about?” Bofur twisted in his saddle, glancing between the princes, who were sharing a conspiratorial smirk over Bilbo’s head, which was bent as he made faces, trying to ward off another brewing sneeze.

 

“Try saying something in Sindarin?” Kíli suggested.

 

Bilbo should have seen the intent. Fíli and Kíli are rarely helpful when they have just been laughing, especially if it has anything to do with elves.

 

Oblivious to such intent, Bilbo rifled through his mind and settled on a simple phrase.

 

“It’s best to shout it, according to my  _ amad _ .” Fíli chimed in.

 

“Umm, okay…” Bilbo took a deep breath, readying the pronunciation on his tongue. 

 

“ ** _Leithio nin_ _!_** "

Followed by

 

“ _ KerchEiyw! _ ”

 

Someone roared.

 

“WHAT WAS THAT?” 

 

“Oh, Bilbo. You’re in for it.” 

 

The roar had come from Thorin.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Khuzdul~  
> Amad -- Mother  
> Fzul-Khozoh -- literally 'Horse-Hero'
> 
> Sindarin~  
> Leithio nin -- Literally 'Release me'
> 
> \---
> 
> A/N -  
> The dwarves are a very superstitious folk, and if you didn't know that an itching nose supposedly means someone's thinking about you, now you do. (AKA Bilbo's itchy nose = Thorin's thinking about him~)


	14. I got off easy there. You should see him two weeks from now.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fili and Kili's trick didn't quite have the desired effect, and Thorin finds the halfling well-versed in dwarvish culture. How odd.

  
  


Thorin heard a shout from somewhere near the back of the company. A sensation like a trickle of water running down his back told the dwarf it was in the accursed language of the elves.

 

“WHAT WAS THAT?” He shouted, wheeling Minty about with a snarl on his face.

 

“Fíli, Kíli, that was just downright evil.” He heard Bofur admonish Thorin’s nephews.

 

“I am going to toss you into the river by your ears…  _ ah-ktchyw!! _ ” The halfling’s grousing was followed by a sneeze.

 

Finally Thorin reached the back of the company. He glanced at Dwalin incredulously, but the captain of the guard made a face and pointed at Bilbo.

 

“Was that elvish?” He rode up behind the hobbit.

 

“One of your malevolent nephew’s plots to get my neck wrung, apparently.” The hobbit fired back testily.

 

“But was it Elvish?” Thorin repeated.

 

The halfling sighed, sounding exasperated. “Yes, that was Sindarin.”

 

“What did it mean?”

 

“In Westron, it means  _ release me _ . I was trying to ward off a sneeze.”

 

Thorin chuckled.

 

“What?”

 

_ You look enough like a tiny elf that I’m really not surprised, but if I were to say that out loud I would get many a questioning look. _

 

“I didn’t expect you to know the language of the tree-shaggers. Are you fluent?”

 

“That’s a rather rude nickname.” The hobbit was fighting to smother a grin. Thorin could see his cheeks twitching.

 

“You didn’t answer my question, halfling.”

 

“I am half of nothing. Just for that comment I will not give you a straight answer.”

 

“Right, because being around a wizard for three days allows one to speak in riddles.” The dwarf laughed, his voice laced with sarcasm.

 

_ But apparently, being around a hobbit for two days makes every other comment from you sarcastic. _

 

“Gandalf has been a family friend since before you were born, I’ll have you know.” The hobbit sniped back, trying to flick his dripping curls out of his face.

 

“And how long is that?”

 

“Over three hundred years.” The hobbit twisted in his saddle and shot a smirk back at the dwarf, who felt his face morph into a scowl. “And I believe you are right about one hundred and ninety five, if I judge correctly.” The scowl turned into a face of utter surprise,

 

“And how do you guess that?” Thorin tried to school his features into neutrality, but he had a feeling that it didn’t work.

 

“Well, from what I’ve read, generally Dwarrow-folk live to be about two hundred and fifty to two hundred and seventy five, but the line of Durin has been said to often live upwards of three hundred. I put you about middle age, but a little older because of the streaks of silver in your mane.” The hobbit laughed the last word.

 

“Very few texts about my people have ever been published in Westron, and even fewer in Sindarin. How would you come by such information?” There was naked astonishment and curiosity in Thorin’s gaze now, he was sure, but he was very suspicious of how this halfling would know this much about the king-in-exile’s highly secretive race.

 

“Lord Elrond of Rivendell can read and write fluently in ancient dwarvish - you call it Khûzdul, right? - and has translated some of the old texts into Sindarin, which I can read. Thus, I read. What I’ve heard and seen during my time in the company thusfar has only made me more curious.”

 

“Elrond can read Khûzdul?”

 

“Aye, he and Thrór corresponded frequently during your grandfather’s rule, so he needed to be able to read and write in the dwarvish tongue to be able to correctly pay respects and see that traditions were upheld.” Bilbo chattered amiably, slowing Maha so that he could walk alongside Thorin.

 

“And you have spent time in Rivendell?” Thorin questioned.

 

“Yes, many a winter I have spent in Imladris. Elrond has twin sons named Elladan and Elrohir. They are very much similar to Fíli and Kíli in their love of tricks and mirth.” Bilbo laughed, seemingly remembering something.

 

Thorin snorted disdainfully. “I find it hard to imagine Fíli and Kíli like  _ any _ elf.”

 

“Then you may be surprised.” The hobbit answered bluntly.

 

The halfling fell quiet as the rain slacked off to a barely-there drizzle, and the company rode in silence.

  
  



	15. No, I promise I'm not a mind-reader. It's difficult to explain, and we're about to be ambushed.

 

“We camp here for tonight. Fíli, Kíli, look after the ponies. Make sure you stay with them,” Bilbo watched as Thorin ordered his nephews off. The Hobbit, however, was more focused on a very concerned-looking wizard.

“A farmer and his family used to live here…” Gandalf murmured as he paced through the charred remains of the old farmhouse.

“And the place was scorched to the ground. In Trollshaw,” Bilbo sniped, hands on his hips. “Sounds like a lovely place to spend the night, don’t you think, Thorin?” He tossed the last bit over his shoulder, towards where Thorin was trying to make it very obvious that no, he wasn’t listening or concerned in the _least_.

“I am certain it is of no concern. Simply a mishap,” Thorin brushed it off, effectively ending the conversation by marching off to converse in low Khûzdul with Dwalin.

“Save me from the stubbornness of Dwarrow royalty,” The Hobbit growled under his breath as Gandalf swept off, uttering almost the exact same exclamation.

“C’mon Bombur, we’re hungry,” Thorin drew the company’s attention back from the retreating form of the wizard.

\-----

Bilbo Baggins was many things - especially after his journey - but one thing he was not, was willing to let a trio of dumb mountain trolls best him.

After maybe an hour of gathering from the scattered plants of Belladonna and Nightshade, Bilbo crept into the camp and climbed a tree.

    “Hey! That’s _my_ grog,” one troll - Bert, if Bilbo remembered correctly - growled to the scrawny one - William - who had attempted to squirrel away a taste of whatever undoubtedly foul liquid that was in the bucket-sized mug.

    “I think he’s right. It _was_ on his side of the log,” Bilbo chirped, swinging down from the tree and landing lightly on his feet. “I couldn’t help but overhear that you don’t like horse. I happen to peddle specialized herbs for creatures like you. In fact, I can give you a free sample,” With that, the hobbit opened his handkerchief (which he had _not_ forgotten this time, thank you very much) and revealed the assortment of purple flowers and yellow and black berries.

    “You wot?” Thom - the one with the smush-nose - perked up. “What do they do?” He asked, and Bilbo had to bite his cheek not to laugh at their gullibility.

    “These berries, when eaten with the flowers, will make any meal you eat that day taste like man-flesh. You wouldn’t be able to tell the difference,” He quipped.

    “And we each eat these?”

    “That’s right. Would you each like your free samples?” Bilbo kept biting his cheek. He knew it was probably bleeding at this point - in which case Bofur, Fíli, and Kíli might kill him (the charismatic dwarves had grown quite protective of Bilbo) - but he was having serious trouble holding his laughter at bay.

    “Well, wot we waitin’ for?” He held his meaty paw out expectantly, the other two following suit.

Smiling, Bilbo tipped a generous amount of berries and flowers into each outstretched paw.

He let himself burst into laughter as they tipped the poison into their mouths and chewed.

    “Woi yew laughin’, squirrel?” Thom asked around a mouthful of berries.

Bilbo waved the question away and clambered back into the tree to observe the coming events. During his laughing fit, he had given the signal Fíli and Kíli had told him to use the first time - “hoot once like a barn owl, twice like a brown owl” - and could hear the company crashing through the forest towards them.

    “Bilbo!” Bofur shouted as he burst through the brush, only to see said Hobbit perched comfortably on a branch while the trolls keeled over, very dead.

The rest of the “rescue party” burst into the clearing and finds themselves equally impressed.

    “Is there any soup left?” Bilbo chirped, jumping onto the back of one of the trolls and strolling to the ground and back towards the camp.

 

\-----

 

Bilbo pretended not to notice the stares he got from the company as Gandalf led the way to the troll hoard.

    “Oh, what’s that stench!?” Nori cried as the wind shifted, blowing the - ah - _aroma_ of the trolls’ cave towards them. Bilbo was very glad he had tied his handkerchief around his face. Because truthfully? The trolls stank nearly bad enough to turn the clouds overhead green.

     “It’s a troll hoard. Be careful what you touch,” Gandalf advised, wrinkling his hooked nose in distaste.

Bilbo scuffed his feet once he reached the loose dirt - mixed in with a tasteful amount of bone fragments - looking for the distinct _schuff_ that would announce his (re)discovery of his beloved Sting. He shuffled around, half-listening to his dwarven company discussing the out-in-the-open-ness of the stash of gold.

    “Hate to leave it just lyin’ around,” Bofur commented balefully.

    “Anyone could take it,” Gloín agreed, a woeful lilt to his voice, before pausing thoughtfully. “Nori. Get a shovel.”

Bilbo huffed out a quiet laugh from behind his handkerchief. He was so amused by Gloín’s anguished tone that he almost missed it.

_Schuff_

    “A-hah! There you are, my darling,” Bilbo bent over and pulled his trusty elvish shortsword from the rubble.

A quiet _hmmph_ sounded behind him and he looked over to see Gandalf studying a pair of elegant elvish blades that had been stashed in a decaying barrel. One of them had a refined but common cross-shaped pommel and crossguard - Glamdring -, but the other Bilbo recognized as the elegant elk-antler hilt of Orcrist, Thorin’s sword-to-be.

    “Orcrist and Glamdring,” Bilbo whispered their names to himself. “The Goblin-Cleaver and the Foe-Hammer.”

    “What was that, my boy?” Gandalf looked up, bushy eyebrows furrowed.

Bilbo turned pink at being caught and rushed to think of an explanation for his knowledge of the long-lost elvish blades.

    “Oh, um I-- uh. Elrond used to lament their loss. I had - um - been sketching the shards of Narsíl - Isildur’s sword -, and asked about any of the other - ahm - ancient weapons. He spoke of their deeds. He will be - uh - very glad to see them recovered,” Bilbo blushed an even deeper shade of red at his stuttering. If Gandalf noticed - which he undoubtedly did - then he didn’t comment. Bilbo might have seen him raise one bushy eyebrow as he turned away, antiquarian blue eyes laughing.

The company filed out of the stinking cave, flailing their hands in the air to - fruitlessly - try and clear the stench from the air in front of them.

A sharp snapping and rustling announced the approach of an unknown assailant, and the company fanned out in front of the hoard, with a weapon facing in every angle.

    “Thieves! Fire! Murder!” Radaghast howled as his rabbit-drawn sled came crashing into the clearing to the shouting of the dwarves.

    “Ah, Radaghast! Radaghast the Brown. What on earth are you doing here?” Gandalf lowered Glamdring and switched his staff back to his dominant hand.

    “I was looking for you, Gandalf. Something’s wrong. Something’s _terribly_ wrong.”

    “Yes?” Gandalf prompted, chewing on his pipestem.”

Bilbo remembered this conversation.

    “The Greenwood is sick,” The Hobbit murmured. “Nothing grows anymore. At least nothing good.”

Radaghast nodded frantically at the hobbit.

    “Spiders. Giant ones. Some kind of spawn of Ungoliant, or I am not a Wizard. I followed their trail. They came from Dol Guldur,” The brown wizard fussed.

    “Dol Guldur? But the old fortress is abandoned,” Gandalf continued to chew thoughtfully on his pipe stem.

    “No, Gandalf. Tis not,” Radaghast had a stricken expression as he launched into his tale. ““A dark power dwells there, such as I have never felt before. It is the shadow of an ancient horror. One that can summon the spirits of the dead. I saw him, Gandalf. From out of the darkness, a Necromancer has come,” He finished in a whisper, features stretched in a panicked look.

Cleaning the end of his pipe with his beard (something Bilbo never understood), Gandalf held the long-stemmed pipe out to his friend.

    “Try a bit of Old Toby. It’ll help settle your nerves.”

Radaghast inhaled a lungful of smooth pipe smoke, and exhaled it through every hole in his face excluding his mouth. Ears included.

    ““Now, a Necromancer. Are you sure?” Gandalf questioned when the other wizard came back to himself.

Radaghast’s expression sobered. He pulled a long cloth-wrapped parcel out of his cowl, holding it out to Gandalf with a look of trepidation.

    “That is not from the world of the living,” He whispered as Gandalf loosened the strands of leather keeping the bundle tied closed.

A low, throaty howl echoed through the bowl where the troll-hoard was hidden.

    “Warg scouts. Get to the edge of the plains. I’ll call the ponies,” Bilbo snapped at the company, earning a couple of hard stares. “Go now!”

Thorin looked at Bilbo for a couple seconds, obviously searching his features. He locked eyes with the hobbit, before giving a sharp nod.

    “Do as he says,” He growled, before leading the way out towards the break in the trees. The company followed.

Bilbo waited until the last of the dwarrow were out of sight before drawing Sting and whistling sharply. A whinny answered him and he heard the pounding of hooves approaching through the trees.

    “Radaghast. Lead the pack northward and upwind, away from the hidden valley. I’ll get Gandalf and the company into Imladris,” He called to the brown wizard, vaulting onto Maha’s back.

    “Good. Ride swift, little hobbit,” And with that, Radaghast gave a long warbling cry and took off in the opposite direction.

Confident that the ponies would follow him and Maha, Bilbo thundered onto the plains, pulling his pony down so that he halted next to Gandalf.

    “Lead them to the hidden valley. I’m going to help Radaghast keep them away,” He whispered to the tall wizard as the dwarrow mounted up.

    “Those are Gundavad Wargs. That is ridiculous. I will not allow it,” Gandalf fixed Bilbo with a look that would have a lesser being cowering.

    “Have you ever seen a Warg outrun a Rohan pony?” Bilbo fired back, smirking as he wheeled Maha and took off to help Radaghast.

Bilbo pounded toward the howls of the Wargs, Maha still conserving his speed by order of Bilbo’s hands on the reins.

An orc snarled something foul in black speech, pointing at the Rohan pony and it’s equally small rider.

    “Come and get me, Mordor spawn,” Bilbo crowed back, pulling Maha into a defiant rear.

The orc spat something else and dug its heels into the sable Warg it was riding, spurring the lanky Mordor-hound forward and toward pony and rider.


End file.
